We didn't?
by Yel Ashaya
Summary: Waking up, turning around. Someone says 'good morning'. They've got purple eyes and elongated ears. Hmm... is that good or bad? Disclaimer: Star Trek, nor Weyoun are mine. R&R would be welcomed :)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is set between the DS9 episodes 'Ties of Blood and Water' and 'Call to Arms'.

My eyes flickered open; the bright, dotted lights of the far fling stars streaming in through the windows. Blinking several times to let my eyes adjust to the newfound light of morning. As I turned over in bed, I let my eyes close for longer than usual. Something woke me, then. What was it? I had no idea. It sounded like... someone else. Snoring? No, surely not...

Finally having the need to give into my feelings of intense curiosity and dread, I focused my attentions forward.

"Good morning."

My mind flew into overdrive at the sound of the voice. The unknown, yet somehow familiar sounding voice. I looked at the figure in the bed beside me. Oh, no, I didn't.

The bright, purple orbs for eyes; the thick, jet black hair; the pale skin; the elongated ears._ I didn't_. I sat upright in the bed and simply stared. So did he, except, he was smiling. He looked very, _very_ smug.

"We didn't..." I murmured, horror creasing my usually calm features. My hand, almost absent mindlessly, came up to my face and I rubbed my temples with weary vigour.

The smug smile still drawn on his lips, he answered, as innocent as ever, "We didn't what?"

Distressed and partly disgusted with myself, I crawled out of the bed and wanted to scream when I looked down to see that I had nothing on. I was stark naked. I put on the essentials.

I exclaimed, "How _drunk_ was I?"

I didn't want him to answer; it was a rhetorical question. But, obviously, he wouldn't adhere to my wishes. I wasn't one of his precious Founders. "You did seen quite incapacitated, if its any consolation."

"Oh, God," I muttered, almost breathlessly.

"God?" Weyoun enquired curiously... innocently. "You said that word a lot last night." My face screwed up in a painful, reminiscing grimace. You weren't referring to the Founders, of that I'm sure."

"No I was not referring to the Founders!" I quipped angrily, starting to get my bearings and sort out my mad, almost static hair.

"Going so soon?" he asked, almost sounding... disappointed at the prospect, with an empty, encompassing gesture of his hands.

I ignored him at first, but then found the courage and the need somewhere to snap, "Yes." I snatched up my clothes that were strewn across all parts of the floor and then hurriedly, messily threw them on.

I stormed out of the quarters and found myself in one of the dark, Cardassian-style corridors of Deep Space Nine. At least I hadn't left the station, I thought, kind of thankful for it. I hid my face with a hand as I slipped past a pair of Bajoran security officers. Oh Lord, I thought, they'd seen me hurrying out of Weyoun's quarters. Early in what I assumed was morning. My appearance all bedraggled and rushed. I could do nothing but grimace at that realisation.

I ambled down the winding, dark passages to the Promenade. Perhaps I could find some sort of hopeful solace there, amongst the rowdy Tongo and Dabo games that were no doubt taking place.

Keeping my head low, I took a seat on one of the stools that were dotted around the edge of the Ferengi owned bar. I almost jumped when I became aware of someone sitting beside me. I looked up to be met with a strange sight. Eye ridges. Slender, ridged neck. Blue lagoon eyes. Definitely not a Vorta. And, definitely not Weyoun.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he offered, smiling.

Wearily, I nodded. "Please." I considered. "A Raktajino."

Dutifully, he called over Quark. The bartender came over and carried out the orders, whilst offering a few snide comments, as per usual.

Quark shifted the cup of Klingon coffee in my direction and I held it, offering a small smile as I did so. The stranger beside me was drinking some god awful black, tar-like substance. It stank worse than any other alcohol I knew of, and I imagined that its taste probably matched the smell it had. However, he seemed to be quite happy with it. In fact, he seemed more than happy with it.

"You should try Kanar," he said to me, holding up his glass slightly.

I frowned and then my expression somehow managed to morph into a wry smile. "I think I'll stay odd the alcohol for the time being, considering what it made me do last night."

"What happened?" he asked, all of a sudden incredibly interested in what I had to say.

But, before I had the chance to even start to explain, someone at at the bar on the other side of me. Needing to satisfy my curiosity, I turned my head and instantly buried my head in my hands when I saw who it was. "Oh, no," I murmured into my hands.

"Damar," he said jovially. Too jovially. "How are you today?"

I could tell... Damar was thinking something. Something deep. I assumed that he and Weyoun weren't on the friendliest of terms. "Weyoun," Damar said gruffly. "Don't pretend to like me. That feeling will never be mutual."

The Vorta seemed to let that comment slide past.

Rolling his aquamarine eyes, Damar muttered, "I am fine." He downed the rest of his Kanar.

Looking at him... disapprovingly?, Weyoun asked, a glint of humour and silliness in his eyes, "Have you any interesting news?"

Damar stiffened and frowned. He didn't reply verbally, only leaving Weyoun to be content with a prompt shake of the head.

"I have some interesting news," Weyoun declared proudly, looking at me. I slumped back and tried to hide my embarrassed face with my cup. "I was fortunate to be able to expand my interest in interspecies mating rituals." He smiled. Uncomfortably. "To the point where I could implement it."

Again, I buried my face in my hands and moaned. I could leave, of course, but then I wouldn't be able to somewhat police what it was that Weyoun was revealing to the Cardassian.

Damar, also, appeared to be quite uncomfortable with the topic. After all, who could blame him? Weyoun, however, seemed to be perfectly comfortable with the topic. How had the Founders not considered that an important enough aspect of life to keep? Sighing, I managed to haul my head up as I braced myself for why was to come.

Before Weyoun had gotten down to explaining the event in full, I managed to stop him. God knows how I did it, it just happened.

"Weyoun," Damar growled. "You shouldn't have taken advantage of her like that."

The clone started back slightly. He almost looked taken aback. Alarmed. "I thought it better that I do so, other than have her picked up by either you or that insatiable Gul Dukat."

Damar's hands clenched into solid fists and I thought for one moment that he might actually break the glass. "You owe Dukat more respect," he said through gritted teeth.

All I could do was watch. "Gentlemen," I said firmly. It was weird; calling the leader of the Cardassian Union's right hand man, and the foremost diplomat of the Dominion 'gentlemen'. I sighed and waited expectantly for their respective reactions to my stepping back. "What's done is done." I turned to Damar. "Please don't tell anyone what Weyoun told you."

He nodded. I knew he probably wouldn't tell. Weyoun, though, as a completely different thing. To him, I was an achievement. An accomplishment. And, he has always come across as being a particularly proud individual, even if there was really no need for his attitude. I knew he would tell.

However, what I didn't know was whether or not it was a mistake. Was it bad to be somewhat... intrigued? Was that bad or good? I didn't have an answer that... yet.


	2. Chapter 2

The taste of raktajino was still heavy in my stomach as I made my way through the winding passages that constituted the gargantuan habitat ring of Deep Space Nine. I pressed the panel outside my personal quarters and entered. Yawning, I began to get ready for the night. As I wandered into the sleeping section of the less than roomy quarters, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Not again, I thought in sheer desperation. I wasn't exactly sure what I should be saying - or doing - at that precise moment. I decided it would be best if I took some time to consider my options. Calling security would work, I supposed, and I guessed that the problem would probably be solved. Maybe. Then again, the humiliation would stick to me like glue. Superglue. There was no way I would ever be able to live that one down. The security officers - unless the stoic Klingon Worf was part of the accompaniment - would surely go off babbling to other fellow crew members. Then, of course, the news would reach the Promenade. And, once news reached Quark's infamous bar, there was a slim chance of anything ever returning to normal.

Also on the agenda, I considered, was to run away. However, running away wasn't in my blood. There was absolutely no way I was going to flee from my very own quarters. Definitely not that option.

As those and a few other useless ideas got considered and then tossed into the metaphorical bin, another thought crossed my mind. Perhaps I could just talk? Why not? What did I have to lose?

Stepping forward and rubbing my weary temple, I said, "What are you doing here?"

He smiled at me. God, that smile. There was... something about it. I couldn't tell whether or not it was adorable or infuriating. Perhaps it was both. Snapping out of that little reverie, I concentrated my attention on the matter at hand.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" he countered. Looking at his expression, deeply though it was, I could deduce nothing worth telling. His facial features, as cherubic as they were, gave nothing away. The stony face of a diplomat.

I made a sound. I'm not quite sure how to really describe it, but it sure did sound pretty derisive. "No," I told him sternly. Exactly where I had managed to acquire such an authoritative voice, I did not know. "These are my quarters. Answer my question first."

He frowned, a slight crease forming in his brow. I presumed that he was rarely disobeyed; rarely talked back to. I could tell that it angered him, even if he didn't give all that much away. He folded his hands in his laps and looked down at them, before his violet, mesmerising eyes retained their attention in my direction. "I don't like to be questioned." His gaze bore into me.

Shifting uncomfortably on the spot, I sighed. Thinking. "I didn't ask what you liked," I retorted, looking straight at him.

He laughed. It was such an oddly... nice sound. It sounded like a child laughing. He was so easily amused. But, I realised, not quite so easily led on. The sound of his laughter amused me, in turn, but it also sent some sort of chills tingling down my spine. Could it be that I actually enjoyed his laugh? What else did I enjoy? Oh, no. Please, no. Unknowingly, I winced.

As he sobered from his little giggling fit, he gained composure. I couldn't help but wonder exactly how long that sustained composure could be held by him for. "Oh?" he exclaimed. "From what I remember from last night... which is rather a lot, I gathered that you enjoyed asking what I liked."

I growled at him. Really? I growled? Anyway, I had an intense desire to slap him across the face. Right there and then. As if reading my mind, which I'm sure the Vorta cannot do, he got to his feet delicately. He was a short man, that I could quite clearly see now. The only other times I had seen him, he had been either guarded by dozens of angry-looking Jem'Hadar with guns poised; sat at the barstool at Quark's; or, dare I even think it again, lying down.

Nonetheless, he still stood an inch or two above me. He stepped closer to me and appeared to be... scrutinising me...?

Realising that this apparent staring contest was probably going to continue going on for quite some time, and seeing that he looked to be quite comfortable with the sustained, watchful silence, I decided to speak. "I have had enough of your sarcastic comments," I quipped, my teal eyes fighting to maintain their steadfast gaze upon his face.

His lips twisted into an innocent smirk. My eyes landed on his mouth. "I was only speaking the truth," he declared simply, politely, his tone of voice relaxed and almost... seductive...? No, I forced myself to think. He is a clone. An alien clone. He is part of the Dominion. For Christ's sake! He practically leads the Dominion. I'm from a Federation planet. A Federation founding planet. This would be wrong. But, I felt other thoughts flood my mind. Conflicting thoughts. We've done it before, so why not again? That, I found even more compelling. Even more convincing.

Lifting my gaze off his lips, and back into his odd but beautifully purple eyes, I paused to consider. The politeness of his tone, the innocence of his actions, his strangely attractive appearance. It wasn't a sin. And, despite the uncomfortable situation at Quark's earlier on, despite Damar's amused but contemptuous expression, I still felt weirdly compelled to want to continue.

"Weyoun," the word fell out of my mouth, as if it somehow sounded right. My heart raced and my brain kicked into action. Oh, God, I moaned internally. This can't be happening. Our faces were so close. Our bodies were practically touching. I could feel his heat and I could make out every single deviation in his facial features. I was positive it was the same for him.

Whether it was unwittingly or not, he had somehow gotten me against a wall, my shoulder blades pressing hard against the metal hull. Perhaps, I thought, I was too wrapped up in my own considerations to even notice what was going on. He had, by now, taken in all of my appearance. Of course, I knew he'd seen it all before. Twenty six hours ago. Last time, though, I didn't remember any of it. Someone should've warned me about Romulan Ale before it was too late. Not one little tidbit had remained in my memory. Slightly, I frowned, trying to recapture some of that information, but it was a vain attempt.

Before I knew it, one of my hands was on his face, my slender fingers gently touching his intricate, oddly-shaped, interesting ears. Maintaining eye contact with me, he let loose a little giggle. So, that was what pleased him so much. I didn't know what exactly to think next.

"I must say," he announced softly, in between numerous pleasure-induced giggling fits. "That is quite delightful."

A smile crept across my lips, and I didn't let it disappear. What it was that made me do what I did next, I have no idea. I was attracted to him, in spite of his social awkwardness; his innocence; his leadership of the Dominion; his smugness; our past... meeting. My hands found their way around his neck and he stared at me. Curiously? It could have been, I supposed. The Vorta were, apparently, curious species. And, from what I could be bothered to recall from Weyoun's conversation with the Cardassian named Damar, Weyoun was especially interested in interspecies mating rituals and experiences. His intrigue seemed to know no bounds.

I found myself pressed further against the wall, our foreheads touching. His lips crept forward and then they reached mine. This, I realised, would likely be a new experience for him; initiating such a thing. Going on what I already knew about him, I guessed he would probably be getting very, very excited soon. The last time, no matter how much I hated to think of it and consider it, I gathered must have been majorly initiated by myself. That thought would never cease to send shivers of disappointment, surprise, intrigue through my small frame.

As memories of past experiences came to kind, I felt his hair with my grossly intrigued fingers. His mouth was pressed against mine, his lips working lyrically and methodically against mine. He definitely is skilled, I couldn't help but think. That, at least, along with those eyes, was something that the Founders had managed to get right in the artificial cloning process.

My mind was clouded with a myriad of thoughts of different kinds and different magnitudes. My hand was on his pale cheek, caressing it softly. His arms were apparently wrapped around my waist, as he pulled me away from the wall. As I too broke away, my eyes wandered over guiltily to the background. Gleefully, he nodded, and directed me to the sleeping quarters.


End file.
